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Caumsett
In 1897, the Cold Spring Harbor whaler Stella Maris was lost in Long Island Sound when she foundered on the rocks just offshore of Caumsett. For nearly 100 years her captain has been imprisoned in his home on West Neck Road in Lloyd Harbor. Imprisoned until Bill Jones sees the Stella Maris founder during a coma-induced dream. Now the captain may have found the way to break free from the prison, by stealing Bill's mind, and then his body. Only the true love of Jane Jones stands in his way.
Follow along as the captain and Jane struggle for Bill's mind, for his body, and for his soul....
Caumsett was written on location in Caumsett State Park on Long Island. JT fell and hit his head on a rock once while running in the park. During his convalesence JT became intensely interested in the whaling history of the north coast. That interest (obsession?) turned into this ghost story.
Please enjoy this sample from Caumsett.
Introduction
"Please let it be soon, I need him." The old man's lips moved in nearly silent prayer. The well worn boards beneath his knees had heard the prayer often. The need, the hunger, the haunting force of the old man's words. It was a prayer he'd been repeating for almost a hundred years. Beyond the windows, across the neglected lawn, out towards the road, the old man's eyes fixed on the shape of the lone jogger. "I need him," the old man repeated. "I need him."
Chapter
Bill Jones looked out across the sound. And there he saw a ship. And he wondered where it had been. And he wondered where it was bound. And he wondered about those aboard.
Chapter
The leaves had begun to orange, and yellow but not yet red. Bill Jones came to the field and bent to his shoes, tightening them and straightening his socks. At an easy pace he set off across the field, towards the woods, towards the sea. A hundred geese, Canadian geese, perhaps more than a hundred, watched as Bill picked his way across the field, his eyes on the treasures they were, his eyes on the treasures his God had given to him.
Once across the field he came to the gravel trail. Well known to the fishermen, and the hikers, the trail leads two miles down to the saltwater. First through open ground, then through stands of trees that harbor swollen cheeked chipmunks. He ran on the trail. There was sand and rock underfoot. Hoof prints and foot prints were in equal abound. Though he made but slight impression on the earth, there were so many of him, that one could not help but notice he had been there.
Bill checked his watch and it read 7 minutes. He had been in the woods three or four and been in stride 7. As was always his case his breath came heavily now. Now and for a few more minutes until the second wind would arrive and carry him as far as it would. His breath came in gasps, heavy drawn breaths that only fed and did not nurture. Looking all round he saw the wonder of it. The trees, the grass, the little animals, and then his wind came back, stealing into him silently like a shifty thief in the middle of a dark rainy night. His stride became more fluid, and the air once again filled his lungs and the wonder grasped him.
The path curved to the left, then back straight again. Now up, now down. Ever closer to the sea. And then he smelled it. A little dampness, a hint of stagnant water and then it was gone. Gone into the oak. Gone into the maple. A spectral disappearance. He smelled it again. Just a whiff, not a fragrance, just a smell. And then it was gone again. Gone into the forest and the weeds. An ethereal hide and go seek between the constant sea and the fledgling human. One more curve, down again, down further and into the tidal marshes. The smell was on him now, though only to his left, the forest to the right. For the wind came from the sea, and it bore the salt spiced aroma of the tidal marsh up across the path and into the forest.
His stride hastened now as he knew the sea to be but a few more minutes away. It would burst upon him as he crested the last of the dunes. The sky precedes it and the sand precedes it but none follows it, for it is the sea, and it has no end. There are but islands that we may look upon for a time. The sea has no end, and the dreams that race upon it have no beginning, they have always been.
Follow along as the captain and Jane struggle for Bill's mind, for his body, and for his soul....
Caumsett was written on location in Caumsett State Park on Long Island. JT fell and hit his head on a rock once while running in the park. During his convalesence JT became intensely interested in the whaling history of the north coast. That interest (obsession?) turned into this ghost story.
Please enjoy this sample from Caumsett.
Introduction
"Please let it be soon, I need him." The old man's lips moved in nearly silent prayer. The well worn boards beneath his knees had heard the prayer often. The need, the hunger, the haunting force of the old man's words. It was a prayer he'd been repeating for almost a hundred years. Beyond the windows, across the neglected lawn, out towards the road, the old man's eyes fixed on the shape of the lone jogger. "I need him," the old man repeated. "I need him."
Chapter
Bill Jones looked out across the sound. And there he saw a ship. And he wondered where it had been. And he wondered where it was bound. And he wondered about those aboard.
Chapter
The leaves had begun to orange, and yellow but not yet red. Bill Jones came to the field and bent to his shoes, tightening them and straightening his socks. At an easy pace he set off across the field, towards the woods, towards the sea. A hundred geese, Canadian geese, perhaps more than a hundred, watched as Bill picked his way across the field, his eyes on the treasures they were, his eyes on the treasures his God had given to him.
Once across the field he came to the gravel trail. Well known to the fishermen, and the hikers, the trail leads two miles down to the saltwater. First through open ground, then through stands of trees that harbor swollen cheeked chipmunks. He ran on the trail. There was sand and rock underfoot. Hoof prints and foot prints were in equal abound. Though he made but slight impression on the earth, there were so many of him, that one could not help but notice he had been there.
Bill checked his watch and it read 7 minutes. He had been in the woods three or four and been in stride 7. As was always his case his breath came heavily now. Now and for a few more minutes until the second wind would arrive and carry him as far as it would. His breath came in gasps, heavy drawn breaths that only fed and did not nurture. Looking all round he saw the wonder of it. The trees, the grass, the little animals, and then his wind came back, stealing into him silently like a shifty thief in the middle of a dark rainy night. His stride became more fluid, and the air once again filled his lungs and the wonder grasped him.
The path curved to the left, then back straight again. Now up, now down. Ever closer to the sea. And then he smelled it. A little dampness, a hint of stagnant water and then it was gone. Gone into the oak. Gone into the maple. A spectral disappearance. He smelled it again. Just a whiff, not a fragrance, just a smell. And then it was gone again. Gone into the forest and the weeds. An ethereal hide and go seek between the constant sea and the fledgling human. One more curve, down again, down further and into the tidal marshes. The smell was on him now, though only to his left, the forest to the right. For the wind came from the sea, and it bore the salt spiced aroma of the tidal marsh up across the path and into the forest.
His stride hastened now as he knew the sea to be but a few more minutes away. It would burst upon him as he crested the last of the dunes. The sky precedes it and the sand precedes it but none follows it, for it is the sea, and it has no end. There are but islands that we may look upon for a time. The sea has no end, and the dreams that race upon it have no beginning, they have always been.
Nook
First published June 9, 2011
8 people want to read
About the author
J.T. Kalnay
14 books4 followersJT Kalnay is an attorney and an author. He has been an athlete, a soldier, a professor, a programmer, an Ironman, and mountain climber. JT now divides his time between being an attorney, being an author, and helping out with seven children.
JT was born and raised in Belleville, Ontario, Canada. Growing up literally steps from the Bay of Quinte, water, ice, fishing, swimming, boating, and drowning were very early influences and appear frequently in his work.
Educated at the Royal Military College, the University of Ottawa, the University of Dayton and Case Western Reserve University, JT has spent countless hours studying a wide range of subjects including math, English, computer science, physics, and law. Many of his stories are set on college campuses.
JT is a rock climber and can often be found atop crags in West Virginia, California, Mexico, and Italy. Rock climbing appears frequently in his writing.
JT has witnessed firsthand many traumatic events including the World Trade Center Bombing, the Long Island Railroad Shooting, a bear attack, a plane crash, and numerous fatalities, in the mountains and elsewhere. Disasters, loss, and confronting personal fear are common themes in his writing.
While "boy meets girl" appears to be JT's dominant genre, readers will experience a variety of styles and themes in his simple yet complex writing.
JT has been writing novels for 25 years and has only recently began to release his work under his own name. See if you can recognize his work!
JT was born and raised in Belleville, Ontario, Canada. Growing up literally steps from the Bay of Quinte, water, ice, fishing, swimming, boating, and drowning were very early influences and appear frequently in his work.
Educated at the Royal Military College, the University of Ottawa, the University of Dayton and Case Western Reserve University, JT has spent countless hours studying a wide range of subjects including math, English, computer science, physics, and law. Many of his stories are set on college campuses.
JT is a rock climber and can often be found atop crags in West Virginia, California, Mexico, and Italy. Rock climbing appears frequently in his writing.
JT has witnessed firsthand many traumatic events including the World Trade Center Bombing, the Long Island Railroad Shooting, a bear attack, a plane crash, and numerous fatalities, in the mountains and elsewhere. Disasters, loss, and confronting personal fear are common themes in his writing.
While "boy meets girl" appears to be JT's dominant genre, readers will experience a variety of styles and themes in his simple yet complex writing.
JT has been writing novels for 25 years and has only recently began to release his work under his own name. See if you can recognize his work!
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